


Trembling Hands

by apostapals (apostapal)



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Gender-Neutral Hawke, M/M, Other, there's blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-19
Updated: 2016-08-19
Packaged: 2018-08-09 19:40:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7814566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apostapal/pseuds/apostapals
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt fill. Fenris remembers Hawke's duel with the Arishok much differently than the Tale of the Champion reads.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trembling Hands

Fenris usually enjoys Varric’s slightly over-the-top versions of Hawke’s exploits. There’s a good-natured humor in all of it, often earning a good laugh from the elf even as he tries to correct any of the more ridiculous things about himself.

_(”I still insist there was no sweeping involved in Hawke and I’s courtship.”_

_“C’mon Broody, let me have my romance scenes!”)_

One topic, however, earns only quiet ire; Hawke’s duel with the Arishok.

Varric tells the tale as a grand victory. Hawke fighting and prevailing over what seems an unbeatable foe. Fenris, and likely everyone else, remembers this moment much differently than the books read.

He remembers desperation in Hawke the likes of which he’d never seen before or since. They fought like a cornered animal rather than the practiced spellcaster he’d come to trust at his back in battle.

He remembers blood, too much blood, down Hawke’s front when the fight ended and the Arishok finally fell. He remembers Hawke falling too, bracing on their staff on their knees and coughing wetly.

He remembers Anders’ hands shaking, the mage the first one across the space between their group and Hawke, as he knelt next to the newly coined Champion.

He remembers a ringing in his ears, annoying and dizzying and unyielding until Varric shook his arm.

“Blondie needs your help, elf.”

He remembers not feeling like he was moving as he went to Hawke’s side, their coughing louder as Anders struggled to get them to their feet. Out of the middle of the Viscount’s courtroom, somewhere he could actually work. He remembers how much lighter Hawke felt as he braced under their arm and lifted them off Anders’ shoulders–perhaps from blood loss or the adrenaline burning in his veins.

It blurs in and out after that. Hawke talking–always talking too much for their own good–while Anders worked and mumbled for them to be quiet. Those trembling hands; first Anders’, then Isabela’s as she gripped Hawke’s arm, then his own as he weakly tried to wipe blood–Hawke’s blood–off his armor in the dim firelight of Hawke’s front room.

He remembers being unable to stay at their side, despite all his desire to, because there were too many memories in the dark comfort of Hawke’s bedroom–memories found and memories made–and he couldn’t bare to watch their breathing hitching in pain.

He remembers weeks of touch-and-go, months of recovery, and years of being unable to tell them what he faced that day. The cold stone in his gut at the thought they could die without knowing how he felt. How terrified he was.

He remembers, years later, when his hands found the odd topography of the scars on Hawke’s stomach and back in bed. He remembers realizing what they were, his heart aching as he pressed kisses into them–years late for soothing the wound but no less appreciated.

“Hawke stood over the Arishok in triumph and the whole crowd cheered!” Varric says, throwing his arms over his head for effect as his audience gasps, and Fenris sighs through his nose.

Hawke nudges his side with their elbow and grins when he looks to them. “What’s that face for?” they ask.

“His version is very… different.” he replies blandly.

Hawke just smiles wider. “I like his version better.” they say, “Way nicer than the real one, don’t you think?”

Fenris regards them a moment and smiles faintly, then shrugs. “I suppose it certainly makes a better tale for the bars than ‘Hawke bled on everyone and slept for 3 weeks after’.” he replies.

“See?” Hawke laughs, “Yeah, Varric does a much better job.”

Fenris thinks for a moment and finally relents. “I suppose sometimes it’s nicer to remember things his way.”


End file.
